


In the Dark

by apathaestetical



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Harry is an oblivious mess, M/M, Mental Instability, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, References to Depression, We Love Hate Misunderstandings tbh, draco is a pining mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-27 18:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathaestetical/pseuds/apathaestetical
Summary: What happens when hiding no longer becomes an option?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first fanfiction I ever posted, so please be kind to me. That being said, I am still open for criticisms and suggestions. I am a firm believer that there is always plenty of room for improvements! Also, english is not my first language so I apologize for any errors. I hope my love for these characters will be enough to compensate for those. Fic is inspired by Adele’s song Love In the Dark from her album, 25. 
> 
> Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just borrowed her characters for my own sick pleasure. And I just love them so much to pass up an opportunity to create a different path for them haha. Anyway, enjoy!!! <3

_ People have reserved faces and personalities for different individuals. We are actors in our own ways. Putting up a façade, an act that may or may not be intentional when faced with different circumstances. It’s natural, sort of like an instinct.  _

That was what Draco Malfoy’s therapist once said to him. He understood it. More than he was comfortable admitting to himself. He grew up with such mechanism, seen it in the stiff postures and practiced smiles his father had graced his political colleagues in the years the Malfoy name was still on top of every list. He even became a part of this charade, becoming a charming accessory in the arms of his mother, a head to pat for his father. Once, he thought this was how his life was going to be. Just one social act after another. But came the war and he knew no act would ever be believed again. 

The Malfoy name was dragged in the mud and it was the end of a fraud of a legacy. During those nights he spent huddled in his cold corner of what the Ministry found to be a better alternative than Azkaban, he thought, this was better than sucking up to purebloods who never really cared that wow young Draco’s French lessons are paying well. 

He was tired. At least the alternative of Azkaban didn’t have soul-sucking monsters. He was given two meals a day. Despite the lack of décor and the evident need for light replacements in his cell, it was still passable as comfortable. A good enough bed, a small bathroom to attend to his private matters, and a muggle device called radio that fed him entertainment. He is tired and the idea of spending the rest of his life in such a comfort as this at least took off a bit of weight from his shoulders. This, he believed, was better than trying to salvage a family name that’s irreparable. 

Draco didn’t need to be anyone the other people demanded of him here. 

That was working well enough for him, and he told himself he would remain that way. Even if Harry Potter himself barged himself into Draco’s life and demanded otherwise. Which might have been what happened that fateful afternoon.

He entered Draco’s room with no warning whatsoever, just like the uncouth oaf that he is, and without a word invited himself onto the foot of Draco’s bed. Draco had been in one of his moods then, when his mind seemed to not shut up. He had been awake for a total of thirty hours, and was starting to feel a crick in his neck from staying in that uncomfortable position for the majority of those hours. So of course, he was going to lash out at Potter.

“Hello to you too, Malfoy,” said Potter, fidgeting with the edges of the paper bag he carried with him. There was a dark stain appearing on the bottom of it. “It’s nice to know that confinement hasn’t bored you out of your asshole-ness.”

“Again, Potter, what the fuck are you doing here?” Draco never cared for what Potter might think of him. He was pretty sure the other boy felt the same. There was no need to beat around the bush. If Potter came here to torment him, he would risk getting thrown to Azkaban just to see Potter’s blood on his knuckles.

But none of the vehemence Draco expected came. Potter just looked up at him warily, before thrusting the paper bag onto Draco’s folded arms and walking towards the door. Draco held the greasy bag with careful fingers, unsure if this was a trap or not. He was about to confirm this when Potter opened his mouth. 

“It’s pizza,” he said. Then shrugged. “I guess you might like to try new things since stale prison food isn’t really that appetizing.”

Draco raised an eyebrow but said nothing His throat closed in on itself, half of his brain was too busy contemplating what was happening.

“Open it.” A corner of Potter’s mouth turned up, almost as if in an uncertain smile.

Draco Malfoy had seen Potter smile. He always hated it when Potter was happy. But it was never directed at him. At times when he was lost in thought and careless, he wondered what it would be like, to be the one causing that smile on the Prat Who Lived’s speccy face. And now that it was happening, it felt terrifying.

Mistaking the look on Draco’s face, Potter’s eyebrows burrowed, but the smile grew a fraction. “Come on, you think I’d murder you by poisoning your food? I’m more creative than you think.”

Draco finally found his voice. “I heard  _ Expelliarmus _ is not really that original.”

It took a moment for Potter to understand. When he did, he laughed. Draco found himself lost in the joyful sound reverberating in his room. It had been a long time since he heard such a happy tune. And the thought that it came from Potter,  _ and _ because of him—it was too much for him to take.

Potter began fiddling his Gryffindor sweater’s sleeves. “It worked on him, didn’t it?”

Draco didn’t want to broach the topic of the war so he avoided the meaningful stare from Potter and opted to take out the  _ pisa  _ from its bag. It was a weird, triangular bread. Very greasy and unappetizing, Draco thinks. But compared to the endless supply of Chowder soup the Ministry prison had, this  _ pisa  _ was a better option. He looked back at Potter and nodded his thanks. He would have to try the dish when Potter was out of his room. 

Sensing that he was dismissed, Potter nodded back and began to turn to the door. Draco took his time taking in the sight of the boy. It had been so long since he has seen another person other than Frank, his prison guard. He wondered how long will that messy hair become another fixation in his day dreams. It will be such a pain for Draco, seeing as he no longer had homework to distract him from the git. 

Just before Potter opened the door, he glanced back at him. “I actually came to tell you that,” he paused, swallowing. “Well, your mother is back at the Manor. She saved me, that night—long story—and well, cause of that she’s free. I, er, I thought you’d want to know.”

Potter held his wide eyes for a second, then he left. That night, Draco cried while munching on his surprisingly tasty  _ pisa _ . He was happy. Happy that for the first time in weeks, he was eating something actually decent. Happy that his mother was out there again,  _ free _ . 

That was how everything all began.

Two days later, Potter returned. He brought another weirdly delicious Muggle food and news.

Burger and his Father’s sentence reduced to twenty years rather than a lifetime. Corndog and fries, and Granger is finishing her last year at Hogwarts and he and Weasley are figuring things out at the moment. Popcorn and She-Weasley is offered a position at Holyhead Harpies, and they will try a long distance relationship. Milk tea with coffee jelly— _ Really _ , Potter, how dare you bring me a product of defilement— and Weasley will intern at his brother’s shop and Potter still doesn’t really know what he wants. Shaved ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and Potter isn’t really sure about his sexuality. Fries, coke, kebab, treacle tart. He bought a new apartment, Theodore Lupin’s first word was Harry, the She-Weasley  _ finally _ broke up with him, and he and Draco’s mum are sort of friends now? 

On the thirty-first visit, Potter brought nothing. At first Draco thought, this is where it will end. His one spot of brightness in this dark cell he thought himself he was content with would disappear. In that split second he saw Potter’s bare hands, he thought back to the time in between the nonstop rants of the boy and Draco’s quick and friendly retorts where he came to a realization that the whopping feeling in his stomach was not caused by the various Muggle treats the boy brings him, but it’s because of the boy himself. He recounted every single smile Potter showed him, and how throughout the days it grew and grew until wearing a smile around Draco no longer felt like he was an animal baring its teeth at a threat. He thought back to the times Potter would walk back and forth the tiny space between his cell walls, complaining about this and that, only stopping when Draco said he was being stupid, then proceeding to list down possible solutions to his shallow problems. He remembered when Potter disappeared for two weeks—the longest he has not visited—only to come back with tears and dozen doughnuts and a tub of treacle tart because it was his comfort food. How he bared his heart to Draco, bled into the crevices and crook of Draco’s neck and arms, telling him of the multiple wakes he had to attend, comforting parents who had lost their children, and how funny it was, that in those moments, they were all a bunch of orphans trying to make sense of the loss they never deserved. Draco Malfoy thought back to all those and more, and knew that there wasn’t a particular moment he fell for this man. For the long time, probably even before Potter came with his horrendous pizza, Draco Malfoy had already been in love with him, and just grew strong with every “I brought food!” and “See you, Malfoy!” 

Draco was not a fool. He knew such good a thing was too good to last. He knew so he took advantage, made sure that he catalogued every smile, laugh, and quirky expressions. He just didn’t expect it to end soon.

But Draco was nothing if not resilient. He will bounce back from this. When Potter leaves, he will wallow in self-pity, lick his wounds, and then move on. He has managed nineteen years of not having Potter’s constant attention. He can manage it for another nineteen more. So when Potter edged near at him, opening his mouth to say what Draco dreaded, he has managed to prepare himself for the worst. What he didn’t prepare for was those skinny arms to wrap itself around him, clutching him in a tight embrace.

“Uh—”

“You’re getting paroled,” Potter interrupted, pulling away from Draco, but still holding Draco’s shoulder in a hard grip. 

Draco could do nothing but stare.

Potter rejoiced at his silence. He shook his head minutely, a stupid grin pulling at his cheeks. “I kept bugging Kingsley to work on your case, and they finally did! You did a lot horrible things and caused a lot of casualties—“Draco cringed “—but they crossed it out with the grounds that you were underage! They’re going to hold a trial soon and I just have to testify for you to make sure your parole will not lead you back here! You saved me before, this time I get to do it for you, too.”

Draco started to shake his head but Harry has it locked between his hands quickly.

“No, you listen to me, Draco Malfoy,” said Potter, with such passion that had Draco’s heart stopping. “You are getting out of this place. You are not gonna settle here just because you think you deserve it, which you don’t. You won’t have to prove them anything, or to make sure the Malfoy name becomes a thing again. You just have to live for yourself and your mum now. You get to be a Potions master. Or a chef. Or a healer. You’re going to be a free man. Whatever you want, you can take it. Anything.”

And because Malfoy was such a goner for Potter and everything he says, he did just what Potter suggested. He took what he want. And what he wanted he found in the soft space between Potter’s smiling lips. His emotions overwhelmed him that none of his senses and self-control became use to him. He gripped Potter’s robes then, pulling him closer as a wretched breath escaped his lips, warming Potter’s. A soft gasp escaped Potter and this gave Draco the advantage to taste him. Ever so slightly he grazed Potter’s lips with his tongue, savoring its plump and soft feel. He counted to five before pulling himself painfully away from the other. Potter was breathing hard, probably staring at Draco with uninhibited disgust and disbelief. 

Draco felt the last of his elation and confidence leave his body. Despite finally experiencing what he wanted most at the moment, he knew it would never be enough. He would never be settled with a taste. It was just too cruel. He was comforted at the thought that he was not going to be stuck here where Potter could corner him and demand answers Draco was not sure he could give. Ever. At least in parole, he was a free man, and avoiding Potter would be an easy enough task.

“Malfoy?”

This jolted Draco awake. With shaking hands, he managed to push Potter to the door.  “Leave,” he ordered, surprised at how stable his voice was. 

“No,” Potter said, stopping and turning to face Draco. “What did you—why did you—?”

“I SAID FUCKING LEAVE!” 

Draco managed to drag his eyes off the floor, directing them at Potter who was just as startled at Draco’s outburst. “Please.”

Potter stared at him for a moment, before nodding surreptitiously, and leaving.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates. Like I said, I've plotted the whole thing and it's pretty much done in my head but I still need to write it haha. BUUUT, I will try to update every other week. Thank you for the kudos, I don't even expect them. <3 <3 love yall. Enjoy!

Draco slept for two days, only waking to eat and relieve himself. The rest of the time, he was lost in the vivid images his mind created for him. It was tiring, despite finally having the sleep his body needed. He had to take measures just to avoid thinking of the bespectacled prat. 

On the third day, his trial was finally announced, and on the fourth, he went out to see to his case. Draco was not surprised that Potter was there. Not even when his sidekicks were there, Weasley looking ruffled but sympathetic, and Granger looking scared but determined. Potter was undeterred by everything, however. He stared down anyone who looked his way and held his chin higher. His gaze seemed to be sweeping the courtroom, Draco knew who he was seeking. Before their eyes could meet, Draco returned his gaze to the line of lawmen who sat with stern faces on a long podium. 

The trial went by quickly. They laid out all the “offense” Draco Malfoy did, but it was all ruled out with the circumstance that he did those as an underage wizard. He was sentenced to a parole for the time being. Just like Potter predicted. Then, Potter said his piece. He described how he came to know Draco Malfoy through the years, and how Draco was different and could possibly could not do such things unless under duress. He was hesitant at one point, seeking Draco’s eyes at that short pause. But when he found nothing there, he proceeded, and Draco wished he had reacted at that point. 

What he next began to reveal was the moment of their duel in the seventh floor bathroom. How he saw Draco break down that night, and how Potter wished he had offered help instead of resorting to violence. Draco noticed how he failed to mention the menace of a spell he used. Then, he recalled of the part where Potter and his gang were captured by the bandits and how Draco was asked to identify him. And he knew that  _ Draco _ knew, yet Draco chose to deny, deny, deny. And he lived because of Draco. The wizarding world was saved, partly because of this move. Draco knew Potter was exaggerating at that but he could not stop the feelings that threatened to suffocate him.

Minutes that seemed to be hours later, the trial was over and everyone was huddling to get out of the courtroom. Draco was pronounced innocent. He was a free man, all on the accounts of a skinny boy with a scar on his forehead. Draco watched everyone go but he didn’t see Potter among the crowd. The feeling of being freed again, of having all that opportunity and hope at his reach again lightened his heart. But there was a slight tugging there, a pull that he knew would lead to Potter. 

His mother was the first person to touch him after all that. She took him in her arms, crying silently on his shoulders. She was caressing his hair, soothing the tension off his scalp, and whispering hopeful things in his ears. They were free.

He knew he should be happy. Everything will be a challenge from now on. It will take a long time to get rid of the “Death Eater” identity they see him as. But it didn’t mean everything was out of reach for him. He could still attain that life he always wanted.

For the next few weeks, Draco did nothing but plan. He will take the time to relax when he was certain that he could feed himself and his mother. He considered every path he could take, every occupation that would be able to open itself for him. There will be setbacks and difficulties but no worthy thing is ever easy. 

Finding the definition of normal was not easy for him. For one, his sleeping patterns have still failed to correct itself. His mind was still loud as ever. At times he wished to be alone, to be locked in his room, just to remember what it felt like to be back in his cell, which he has long accustomed to be his normal.

He still couldn’t find it in him to go outside and expose himself to the wizarding world. Although he did miss the Fortescue’s ice cream, the scent of old paper and incensed wood that comes along with the remnants of magic in Diagon Alley.  What information he could glean about the world outside the manor he found in the Daily Prophet.

There were a lot of developments being done in the wizarding world, he read. New departments are being opened here and there, each named as ridiculous as the next one, but they all cater to what Draco presumes to be “the good ones” during the war. Orphaned children from the war, the muggleborns, the halfbloods, the werewolves, and many more. Mininster Shacklebolt had a lot to worry about, what with all the new additions and proposals flying. All this yet Draco hadn’t had the heart to care. His eyes always seemed to overlook those and just speed towards a certain boy. 

Harry Potter and his ginger sidekick might have passed the opportunity to study again, or to accept the invitation to Auror schooling, but they still take a pretty decent amount of space in the daily gossip. And despite denying everything aloud, Draco managed to follow every lead they had on the wonder boy.

It seemed as if the Prophet and Draco shared the same interest with regards to the boy. No matter how mundane or uninteresting Harry Potter was up to, they hung on to him. It should appear absurd for Draco to read all the crap that was being published in the paper about Potter, but he just could not bring himself to  _ not  _ read every single word. Whether it be about what time Potter woke up to fetch his Prophet  by the post today, or where he took his lunch on that fine day, or what brought him to the Diagon Alley the next day. Draco was ready to eat it all up.

Amidst all the reportage of all the simple things Potter does, there was one consistent topic they always pick on: his and the Girl Weasley’s “relationship.” It became a past time for the Prophet writers, their attempt at demystifying whatever it was happening between the two. Although there was a part in Draco that loathed their futile search on a label for the two, he found the whole results amusing. 

Ginevra Weasley was an up and coming professional quidditch player. The demand of training took up most of her time. The majority of reports about her were located on either the Harpy’s field or on another location vital to her training regimen. The only ever time they were able to catch her with Potter was during the time they ate lunch one sunday, and they weren’t even alone. The whole bunch of Weasley’s were there as well. 

However, the lack of content on the two should not mean that there really was  _ nothing.  _ Yes, Potter confessed to him once that he had confusions about his sexuality but those are just  _ that _ . Confusions. They could go away should Potter have his head cleared of any of those thoughts. He might wake up one day and say,  _ “I’m straight as a stiff bowtruckle _ ,” and all illusions will end for Draco. 

Despite all this, Draco continued his not so subtle keeping tabs on the other boy. 

On the one month mark since he’d last seen the boy, well, the boy made an appearance. 

At this point in Draco’s life he was still at the stage of adjusting. He has written numerous templates for letters on internships he had been eyeing but to actually filling in its contents, he had failed to do. Aside from this, he had began to write letters to his former classmates, addressing every single sin he had committed to them and their families. It was not a valid apology but it eased a bit of his guilt with every swipe of his quill. 

That was the most work he had done. The rest of the day he was asleep,  high on draught of peace. At night, his demons were awake, holding his every limb as he tried to make sense of everything in his life. He tried not to but his mind wandered to Harry Potter and the hopelessness that came with it, the bleakness of the future, the helplessness in his body as he fights the darker thoughts in his mind. And so in his usual slump and sleepless state did Harry Potter find him.

One second he was staring at the parchment that bore  _ Dear Professor McGonaggal _ inside his dim library, and the next his Floo was roaring, admitting one inebriated Harry Potter. 

Draco came to this conclusion because there was no way that the defeater of the Dark Lord would fall to his face after taking the Floo. While laughing quite maniacally at that. 

Draco was quick to his feet, bottling his ink and moving off his chair. He approached Potter carefully, uncertain if it would be best to touch the boy who was still finding the floor amusing. 

“Potter?”

The laughter died down. Potter shakily pushed himself to a sitting position. When he was stable enough on his bottom, he looked up at Draco and reached his hand out. Draco stared at the hand, frozen. Just what was Potter doing? How did he break the wards in the Manor Floo network while  _ drunk?  _ Wasn’t it enough that was humiliated; was Potter here to further prove that he’s got Draco completely wrapped around his finger? 

His mind was buzzing with warnings but this did not stop him from taking Potter’s hand and kneeling in front of the boy. “Potter, you are drunk off your arse. Do you even know where you are right now?”

Potter blinked confusedly at him, his grip on Draco’s hand loosening by every blink. “I’m-- uh, haha--where I wanted to be, silly.” 

Draco wished that it was ethical to punch someone drunk out of their mind. Because at that moment that was the only viable solution to stop the thundering of his heart. That, or knock himself out and stop himself from thinking alternate realities where Potter’s words would sound right. 

Of course, he could do nothing but stare as Potter began to laugh once more. “‘M so drunk, Mafloy,” he giggled, leaning forward and placing his forehead on Draco’s shoulders. “How come ‘m so drunk?”

“That’s what happens when you drink alcohol, Potter,” Draco murmured, stiffening at every shift of Potter’s head. He tried not to breathe but it was impossible. Potter’s monstrous hair was all over his face. Amid the ranking smell of alcohol, Potter’s sweat and a hint of his shampoo invaded Draco’s nose. He smelled nice for a drunk person. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Draco made a move to pull Potter up but Potter was heavy and stubborn. He groaned loudly as Draco pulled his body up, and refused to move. “No! The world will spin-- stop, stop, stop! STOP! Oh, WE CANNOT DESTROY THE WORLD, I JUST SAVED IT FROM VOLLEYMORT!”

The sudden exclamation startled Draco, causing his grip on Potter to loosen, which made Potter drop heavily and  _ painfully  _ on the floor. Draco cursed and was about to help him up once more when Potter decided it was time to stain their velvet carpeted floor with vomit. “Fuck me,” Potter groaned, leaning away from his sick. 

At the exact moment, the doors to the library opened. Narcissa entered, wearing a flowy nightgown under her inside robes. Beside her was Mimsy, peeking from behind Narcissa with her batlike ears drooping over her huge eyes. “I knew I would recognize that overdramatic voice anywhere,” his mother said, looking down at Potter’s figure with a fond look in her eyes. 

Draco sighed heavily and landed on a nearby chair. “Mother,” was what he could only say.

Narcissa seemed to understand because she went and gathered him in his arms. “I’ve prepared a milk for you. It’s in your chambers,” she whispered, soothingly running her fingers in his hair. Draco missed falling asleep to those fingers in his hair. “Mimsy and I will take care of Harry.”

Draco took a peek at Potter on the floor, snoring soundly. He closed his eyes, sighed, and stood up. “Thank you, mother,” he said, kissing his mother on the cheek and quietly slipping out of the library. He didn’t bother to check what was happening behind him. His body seemed to move on its own.

When he reached his bedroom, he headed straight to the bedside table. Like his mother said, there was a glass of milk. The gesture warmed his heart. He took a few gulps, set the glass down, and landed on the bed, face first. His exhaustion and the overwhelming emotions at seeing Potter out of the blue finally caught up to him. His limbs sunk into his bed and his eyelids dropped. Who knew that seeing Potter drunk could lull him to sleep. A small smirk formed on his face. This time, as he slowly sunk to unconsciousness, the scenarios where Potter could say that it was by Draco’s side he wanted to be flashed, unbidden but beautiful nevertheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is done in my head. All I need to do is write. Uni just started so I cannot promise consistent updates but have faith in me. I promise I will provide. ANYWAY, I already love you and thank you if you've reached this far!!!


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